


Unfair in Love

by angelsandbrowncoats



Series: Nygmobblepot Week 2017 [4]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Nygmobblepot Week 2017, Pining, Regret, a really long monologue, some discussion of sex but no sex scenes/smut, the author knows nothing about lazarus pit canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-03 20:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12154395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsandbrowncoats/pseuds/angelsandbrowncoats
Summary: Oswald releases Ed from the ice after a particularly emotional dream, and they agree to become strangers to each other. Four years later, Ed enters the Iceberg Lounge to beg for Oswald's help, but unbeknownst to the Penguin, the Riddler has an ulterior motive for wanting them to work together once more.





	Unfair in Love

**Author's Note:**

> Basically what would happen if Oswald and Edward were suddenly overcome with the ability to see situations in a reasonable, rational light. But still be themselves, of course. I had fun writing this one & I hope you all have fun reading it!

They had parted on better terms than either had expected.

Five weeks after being frozen, Ed found himself sitting on an expensive leather couch, dressed in a warm, green coat and casual clothes. A cup of tea was in his hands. He drank from it, unconcerned at the prospect of poison.

"I don't understand," he said finally, "I don't understand anything. Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you unfreeze me? Give me clothes, and food? Why did you _really_ not kill me? Why did you let me think I was in control? _How_ did you beat me?"

Oswald sighed from his chair, angled towards Ed, "Had a lot of time to think, did you?"

"No. It was more like a dream. The only thing that remained steady was the knowledge that you had beaten me. That for all I'd tried to best you, I never could."

"That's why I beat you, Ed. You were trying too hard. You couldn't detach yourself from your goal long enough to plan and what little plan you had, you were too attached to. I never did get around to teaching you how to wing it."

Ed looked away. The thought that Oswald had planned for a future where they were side by side hurt almost as much as the knowledge that Oswald had given up on it.

"As for your other questions, I already told you why I didn't kill you. I wanted to keep you around as a reminder to never love again. I no longer need that reminder," he paused, taking a slow sip of some expensive wine, "I allowed you to gain the upper hand to judge if it was worth trying to repair our friendship. Worth apologizing. In my own way, I was testing you."

"And I failed."

Oswald inclined his head, "You did."

"So why unfreeze me now? You no longer need a reminder, so, what, you're going to kill me _now_?"

"No. I unfroze you because, well to be perfectly honest with you, I unfroze you because I had a dream about my mother and father. I'm sure it sounds silly to you, but... They were together at last, and happy, but they knew I was not. We talked for a long time about love, and in the end, they told me that if you really were my true love, then it didn't matter that you failed my test. It didn't matter whether or not you _proved_ yourself to be worth an apology, because you implicitly are. My father failed to stand up for his love, for my mother, but she never hated him for it. She loved him all the same, and she forgave him. You deserve respect - mine above all others - and you deserve an apology from me for not giving you that respect. My parents were deeply in love, but external forces separated them too soon. I know now that they have finally reunited. I genuinely believe that there was a time, once, when we did both love each other, but perhaps we, too, are simply not meant to be in this lifetime."

He raised his glass in a mock toast, taking a larger gulp this time, "The clothes and food are meant as part of my apology. Not only am I sorry for betraying you as I have, I am sorry for not allowing you to be whoever you wish to be. You should be allowed to decide who you are. Not me. True, you have done much to harm me in return, but using you as a centerpiece was petty and, I think, a greater punishment for you than I initially predicted. Therefore I apologize, as well, for the humiliation I have no doubt caused you."

"So what now?"

"Now we must part ways. You may, of course, use a guest room for the night. I shall be returning to the manor, but do not presume to touch anything in the Lounge."

"You mean you're letting me go?"

Oswald sighed again, rubbing his palms against his eyes, "Oh, Edward. You were never mine to keep. If only I had realized that sooner. But the past cannot be undone. Yes. You're free to go."

"You aren't afraid I'll try to kill you again?"

"Ed, you know now that I can beat you. Perhaps you'll see it as a challenge, but somehow, I doubt that. I can beat you again, but I do not want to. We would both benefit from reverting to strangers. After all, you want so desperately to escape the man who was my friend, and I am too tired and too ashamed to keep clinging to what's left of him. Go. Be the _Riddler_. Create chaos and demand this city's respect. Perhaps we'll cross paths occasionally, but if you don't attack than neither will I."

He stood, slowly, stretching out his injured leg. Ed reached forward with muscle memory, instinct telling him to help, to assist, to be _useful_ , but his hand fell loosely to his side before Oswald could notice. It was too late for that.

When he reached the door, he turned back ever so slightly, "Go find yourself."

And with that he was gone.

~ ~ ~

Four years later, Ed paced anxiously two meters inside the threshold of the Iceberg Lounge.

"Oh my god, would you just sit down already? You're making them nervous!"

He turned to frown at the girl who was petting the leaves of the plants that surrounded the fountain where once Ed himself had stood, moving as if to soothe them.

"Will he speak to me?"

"I don't know! What I do know is that you can't interrupt him when the flag on the door is purple. It's the rule. Last goon that tried it ended up tied, gagged, and bleeding in the lion's den at the zoo at two in the morning. He didn't last long, although I imagine it was a painful way to go," she spoke calmly, completely unfazed by the gruesome words she uttered, "The lions at the zoo aren't used to hunting - they get their meat already prepared - so they didn't try to subdue him first or anything. Just went right at it. Started with his right thigh. _Very_ bloody."

Ed wasn't sure what had his stomach churning more - the graphic imagery or the thought that Oswald had a special code developed for when he wanted to make love to, no, _fuck_ someone in his office, or rather the idea that Oswald was fucking anyone at all. He told himself it was the former, although with a mind like his he could hardly buy it. Torture was his second-favorite pastime after word games and puzzles.

But Oswald was over being in love. So it was pointless to dwell on the 'what if's and the 'might have been's now. And Oswald was a grown man with money and power. If he wanted office sex, there really wasn't anything standing in his way.

His uncomfortable train of thought was interrupted by the object of his severely repressed desire himself.

" _Ed_ ," he heard the gasp slip past the Penguin's lips but for his former friend's sake he pretended he didn't. Instead he peered around, trying to see who else had emerged from the office. Finding no one, he frowned.

"Something wrong?" Oswald caught his expression and glanced around himself.

"I just - I thought you were - were having a conference. Yes. A conference. I assumed there would be others?" he raised an eyebrow, hoping he looked perfectly innocent.

Oswald furrowed his brow but shook his head, "No, no. I was sleeping. Didn't Ivy tell you? I don't have to but I do enjoy a good nap, and it supposedly should help me avoid my father's heart condition."

Ed felt himself sigh in relief without even realizing, casting a suspicious glare in Ivy's direction at what sounded to be a stifled giggle, "No, she was rather vague about what was occupying you."

"Ivy, it's rude to toy with the guests," Oswald admonished. Ivy shrugged, "Didn't know he was a guest."

"Fair enough. You make a good point. Edward, or should I say 'Riddler', _what_ , pray tell, are you doing in my club?"

Ed shuffled his feet, eyes fixed on the colored water flowing through the nearby fountain, "Oswald - _Penguin_ \- I... Something has come to my attention. Something that concerns us both. This may well be too forward of me, but I believe it may be beneficial - necessary, even - to temporarily join forces until we can put this behind ourselves."

Oswald descended the last of the steps, moving to collapse into his favorite armchair.

"And are you planning on enlightening me regarding this 'situation'?"

"It's Strange."

That had Oswald pausing, "What about him?"

"You know how he tortured you? Took you apart and reprogrammed you?"

"No, Ed, I've forgotten the most traumatic experience of my life. Get to the point."

"He's finally decided to go after me. I don't know precisely what he wishes to accomplish, but it may be no more than scientific curiosity. Five of my safe houses had unsolicited, unauthorized mail from 'The Philosopher'. Information about Kristen, Isabella, you, my time at the GCPD, my childhood," Ed let out a soft, involuntary sound that he refused to call a whimper, cringing at how weak he was, how pathetic... He shook his head in agitation, "He knows everything."

"And what do you want from me?" Oswald raised a brow.

"Your help."

The other eyebrow went up to join the first, "My help? Why would I help you? We've both been doing so well in isolation."

"Please, Oswald," Ed glanced away again, hating to beg, but out of options, "I can't do this alone. I - there's more. Part of the problem but also something to make it worth your while."

"Oh? Do tell."

"Oswald," Ed took a long, deep breath, "Have you ever heard of a Lazarus Pit?"

This time Oswald truly froze, "Say again?"

"Strange got his hands on a Lazarus Pit. You know - magical well that can restore the dead to full health?"

Oswald gasped.

"He... Oswald, my father died of alcohol poisoning many years ago. Strange - or a lackey - dug him up sometime last night. He's going to bring him back."

Meeting Ed's wide, terrified eyes, Oswald frowned, "Is that not good? Is he going to try to make you kill him or something?"

Ed gave a low and bitter laugh, "Oh no. That's not... " he sighed, "My father was an artist, of sorts - No, no that's not going to explain... Perhaps I should just show you," he paused, watching them both carefully, "What you are about to see does _not_ leave this room. And by that I mean you tell _no one_. I've never shown anyone - at all - and I am _only_ doing this now as a sign of good faith and to explain the extent of my problem. Are we clear?"

Ivy, who was sitting quietly to the side, nodded, while Oswald replied, "Understood and agreed."

With that confirmation reassuring in his mind, Ed began.

He shucked off his jacket and vest, unbuttoning the top three buttons of his shirt and pulling the fabric down to reveal the highest of his scars. He sighed again, "There are more. Anywhere. Everywhere they wouldn't be easily seen. His finest work of art."

Oswald's eyes bulged as he lifted a shaking finger towards Ed's exposed and damaged flesh, halting a good few feet away, "You mean to say your _father_ did this? A man whose job was to care for you? It's a wonder you _ever_ trusted someone as violent and unpredictable as me... "

"No. Oswald, no. I can't say I _never_ compared you - because I did - but when I did I realized that you are nothing like my father. You did more for me than he ever did, even if you hurt me, too. And... you apologized. You apologized without expecting anything in return. You let me go. That's why I'm asking for your help. I accused you once of being too emotional. The truth is, I bury my feelings because I am too weak to face them. You are infinitely stronger than I, and if I must face my father again, I will need that strength on my side. If we succeed, you can have the Pit. Use it to resurrect your parents, anyone. You can have your loved ones back."

Oswald stared up at him for a long time before he answered, "And what about you? Will you use it to bring back _your_ loved ones? Kristen? Isabella?"

Ed shook his head, "No. What I had with them was not love, as much as I wished and willed it to be so. Kristen would never have been able to love the man I truly am and Isabella... Isabella was a dream. When the pain faded, it seemed obvious that something was off about her. Too much coincidence. It's one puzzle I have no desire to solve, lest I discover the inevitable and the dream become a nightmare."

"How poetic," Oswald quipped, "Let's say, for the sake of time, that I agree to help you. In what capacity would you want said help? What's the plan?"

Ed ducked his head, "You may not like my idea."

"I can't decide if you don't tell me."

"Okay. The first part is the simplest - and the part you're least likely to agree to. I think we should publicly make up. And I want to stay here. Strange will think twice about coming after me on your turf, after what you did to him last time. Chances are he'll wait for a better location. At worst, he sends my father here and we can dispatch him quickly and quietly. More likely he'll want me in a public area. He wants me to freeze up - no pun intended - and he knows I'm more prone to do so in a location where I'm uncomfortable."

After mulling this over for a long time, Oswald raised a finger, frowning in confusion, "You feel comfortable here?"

With a blush, Ed nodded, "This place is undeniably _you_ , and as much as I once wished to, I cannot detach you from the happiest times of my life."

There was another silence followed by Oswald clearing his throat, "Well, in that case, I would agree. What is the next part?"

"The second part is going after Strange. Whether here or in public, we work together against my father. Once he is out of the way, I'll be more reliable. I have a theory on Strange's location and I can use my time here to test it. We gather up all the forces we can - or in your case, _will_ \- and go after him. If he's where I think he is, I can set up a few traps in case the guns blazing method goes awry. You could," here Ed gulped, "even help me 'wing it' if things go south. And once we've got him, you can have the Pit. I - I can leave again, then, I guess... "

Oswald nodded slowly before extending his right hand with purposeful precision, "I accept."

Ed took his hand with perhaps a touch too much enthusiasm.

"Ivy, why don't you go show Ed to Room... 17. Ed, I'll call on you when the club is about to open. Be ready to put on a show for the public."

Ed nodded, pleased that Oswald had given him a room with a prime number. Prime numbers were the best numbers, followed by squares.

Ivy was trying to have a silent conversation with Oswald, but he was having none of it, so she grumbled and stalked off towards the guest rooms, not even waiting for Ed to follow. He scurried after her, eager to prove to Oswald that he had made the right decision.

~ ~ ~

It had all gone wrong.

At first, things proceeded smoothly. Ed had felt awkward, certainly, and the atmosphere of the Lounge was not what one would call welcoming, but there had been no outright hostility. Ed had taken pains to act as polite as possible, a trying task when faced with Oswald's little protege. On the Penguin's part, he had been professional, if aloof. Days turned to weeks and soon enough things had fallen into an oddly domestic routine, in which Ed, always a light sleeper, would make breakfast for the household and even Ivy came to accept that the food was not poisoned.

And then Strange made his move.

It began with a headline.

An impossible headline.

_HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS: THE RIDDLER RETURNS_

It was followed by an article detailing the horrendous return of the Riddler, whose works had 'mysteriously' halted some weeks earlier. Now he was back, ripping up victims and painting green question marks all over Gotham as if he had to make up for lost time.

But Ed hadn't left the Lounge.

Strange had designed a copycat to lure Ed into venturing outside his safehouse. The plot was designed to hit Ed where it hurt the most - stealing his ideas, denying him credit - a cruel parody of his schooldays when he would do schoolwork for stronger, cooler kids in the futile hope that they would someday accept him into their ranks.

To everyone's surprise, it was Ivy that talked him down from retaliation.

"You're smarter than he is," she told him, "and you want to prove it. Playing into his hands will only prove you are a fool. Wait, and every time you want to fight first, imagine how good it will feel when you finally beat him. Your way."

Oswald had smiled at her, a knowing, proud smile that made Ed long for earlier days and simpler times before doppelgangers and betrayals and undead fathers, and he added, "If we wait, we'll force Strange to move again. He will want to increase the pressure you are under, so he will most likely try sending your father here. And then we can remove his key player from the game before it even begins."

Ed was beginning to understand how Oswald had bested him time and time again.

So he waited.

And Strange acted precisely as Oswald had prophesied. It stung a bit, to know that it was _Oswald's_ plan that had worked. That without Oswald (and by extension, Ivy), Ed would have lost. That he, as an individual, wasn't good enough.

But he had more important things to worry about by that point. It was time to begin the hunt. With Ed's father... enjoyably dispatched, Ed could return to the game without fear of breaking down. His experiments complete, he led Oswald and his army to Strange's front door, so to speak (if a trapdoor in the middle of an abandoned cabin counted as a front door), and the fighting began.

Ed had rigged up traps and devices around the perimeter, and anywhere he thought might be hiding the exit of an escape tunnel. Strange would not be leaving the cabin alive.

Oswald sent his troops, however he had found them, in through the trap door, where they were met with more of Strange's experiments. There had been no sign of Strange until one of Ed's devices had alerted him to something caught in his trap. Ed took off, Oswald, Ivy, and a few remaining fighters close behind.

But when they arrived, the trap held nothing more than a squirrel. Ed knew that a squirrel could not have set off his trap, but before he could warn the others, the ground beneath their feet exploded, sending them tumbling to the ground or flying off in different directions. Strange's laboratory was lost, but once again he had evaded retaliation.

Which led to the present moment, when Ed's back slammed into the ground after being thrown backwards by the force of the explosion. Groaning in pain, he lifted his head, glasses askew but still on enough to look around. A mountain of rubble was heaped upon the area they had been standing, burying his trap, and from the arm sticking out, at least one fighter. He turned his head to the side to see Ivy laying sprawled out similarly to how he imagined himself to be. To his other side, two of the fighters were already back on their feet, brushing dust and dirt from their uniforms and checking their weapons.

Ed looked back at Ivy again, searching for the last member of their party. He scanned the trees for a sign of the distinctive feathery hair or the cane that had taken more lives than most guns ever would.

Nothing.

Ed scrambled to his feet, ignoring the pounding in his head as he quickly righted his glasses and began searching in earnest, circling the rubble heap until he tripped and nearly face-planted over something hard and solid jammed between multiple concrete slabs. He looked down and his heart froze. A familiar silver bird skull was staring up at him.

"Oswald!"

Ivy was by his side now as he dropped to his knees, trying without success to shift the concrete. Why was it always in situations like this that he cursed himself for never caring about gym class? Whether it be running away from Gordon or trying to reassure himself that Oswald had _not_ just been crushed under who-knew-how-many tons of concrete, he never had the ability to follow through when it mattered.

Even as Ivy joined him, and together they managed to pull the smallest few pieces off the top, he knew they'd never reach the cane, never reach the hand that the twisting, awful feeling in his gut told him was still grasping it. They wouldn't even be able to recover the body, if there was anything left. Thinking, remembering, as best he could, Ed realized with nauseating certainty that the first break in the ground had been _right_ at Oswald's feet. He'd probably been caught in the explosion.

" _No! Not again!_ " he screamed, not conscious that he had done so as he scraped helplessly at the rubble. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered Ivy taking a step back as he continued, "Not when we were making progress. Not again. You can't - It's not allowed - It's not FAIR!"

"Nygma. Hey, Nygma," Ivy was in front of him now, snapping her fingers in his face. He blinked, concentration snapped, "Huh?"

"We have to go. Now. Strange clearly knows we're here, we need to get back to the Lounge. Regroup."

Ed frowned, "But... don't you hate me?"

Ivy bit her lip, taking a moment to reply, "I don't think you're faking. That - what you just did," she pointed at the concrete they'd managed to pry off the pile, "That was real. You care about him. I always wondered... "

"I - "

"You don't have to defend yourself, or deny it, or explain anything. What's important is that we regroup. Okay?"

"Strange doesn't have the power to - "

"He has the power to make an anonymous tip to the police."

Ed paused. It was the sort of thing Oswald would have thought of, the sort of thing he always missed. _Alternate plans._ He'd never been good with those.

"Okay."

Ivy laid a hand hesitantly on his shoulder and he tensed, but she only said, "It's okay for you to miss him. You should know that," and left to confer with the remaining thugs and gunmen.

~ ~ ~

His disguise was laughable. He knew it.

But he didn't care.

He had to go.

Strange had indeed called the police, who had, apparently, come to the same conclusion that none other than the former mayor was buried beneath the rubble. The burial had been rushed, seeing as there was no body nor (non-fugitive) mourners. It was really just an inscription on a stone set next to his mother's headstone.

And Ed _needed_ to see it.

So with an efficient yet ridiculous disguise in place, he chose a rainy day to make his visit. It would help obscure his outline and give him an excuse to use Oswald's umbrella, which had been leaning near the door to his office for far too long. He made one stop, for lilies, before he reached the cemetery. He placed the flowers between the stones, kneeling down in the grassy mud, and he reached out to trace the cold, _permanent_ letters spelling out _Oswald C. Cobblepot._

"It's too late, Oswald," he said, removing his glasses to rub at his eyes, "It's too late. For making amends. For moving forward. For... for everything," he gasped in a breath as he continued to fight back tears, wanting, even to the last, to prove to Oswald that he was _strong_ , "It wasn't supposed to go like this. You - you were supposed to see that I'd forgiven you, that I'd moved on. You were supposed to let me back in. _You were supposed to live._ Why did it have to be you? Why not me? What can I do? You - You're the King, you always come out on top, you always win, you always _live_. I'm just a fucked up failure who couldn't even... who couldn't even _love_ properly. There. I said it. What I really came here to say. What I came to the Iceberg Lounge to say. I always loved you Oswald, first as a role model, but then - but then we became friends - you did think of me as a friend, right? I can't tell. I can never tell. I never had a friend before you. Not a real one, anyway," he added softly, thinking of Jim Gordon.

"But you - I loved you, Oswald. So much. So much it terrified me, because Kristen taught me that love was a _weakness_ , but then there you were, the key to getting stronger. How could you be both a strength _and_ a weakness? I didn't understand. And you know me," he gave a watery smile, "I can't resist a puzzle. But I was too terrified to say anything. And then later, during the campaign, I was scared again, but this time I was scared of losing you. Scared that you would respond like my father... I hope you know, Oswald, although I'm sure you don't, since what happened happened, but... I would have left her for you. In a heartbeat. She was a myth, a dream, a fantasy to save me from the reality that I wasn't good enough for you.

But then you betrayed my trust. All you had to do was ask, but you went behind my back instead. You treated me like I meant _nothing_ to you, like my _feelings_ meant nothing. And I had been so confident in our friendship before, so trusting... When you confessed why you'd done it, I was so angry, I couldn't think. That, too, was terrifying. I was yours, I'd _always_ been yours, and you hadn't known even though I _told_ you, and I just... I just snapped. I'm sorry. I never meant it to go so far, I - I don't even think I could discern fiction and hallucination from reality at that point. By the time I realized what I'd done, it was too late. Too late to bring you back, make you explain, to understand.

And then you _were_ back. You were back and _again_ I was afraid, because I had _shot_ you, and of course you would want revenge. But I couldn't let you see my fear, so I had to cover it up with rage, and the more I lied, the harder it became to remember what was a lie and what was the truth. You should never have let me take the upper hand. If I hadn't driven us to the docks, the loop wouldn't have been set and I wouldn't have pulled the trigger. I only did it because I thought I had to, to complete the pattern.

By that point, I knew. I knew I had been right about love being a weakness. Every instance of my love towards you - or yours towards me - was entrenched in fear. I was ready to give up, to _finally_ give you up. And then you unfroze me and gave me clothes and food and the nicest apology of my entire life. And I fell in love all over again.

But you didn't want anything to do with me. I knew you were right, that I had to find myself first, become someone who might be worthy of even a fraction of your love before I tried to reclaim it. So I left. But I never stopped thinking about you. I kept up with your empire through my information network, and newspapers, sometimes. I always celebrated your achievements, in my lair," Ed paused to smile. He'd always wanted a lair and it felt so nice to say it out loud. Not as nice as, 'I've started killing people,' but definitely nicer than anything else he remembers saying, "A solitary toast. It sounds pathetic. It probably looked pathetic, too. But I liked to think you somehow knew. I know, _me_ , a man of science, believing in the power of love... But it made me feel like I was still as much a part of your life as you were of mine.

Finally, _finally_ the opportunity arose to seek your help. I hate asking for help, but I knew it was the only chance I had to reconnect with you. It had to be my best plot yet. Something bad enough that you'd take pity on me, but long term enough that I got to reinsert myself into your life. And then, at the end, maybe you wouldn't notice when I stuck around. Or maybe - if I was lucky - you wouldn't want it to end either, and you'd invite me over or something. And then I could finally start the process of trying to make you fall in love with me all over again. I guess it worked the first time, so I thought... _maybe_.

But," he sniffed, his throat closing up again, "But now _I can't_ , because it's _too late_ , because _you're dead! How can you be dead, Oswald? You? You can't die! Gotham won't let you! It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not -_ " he sobbed into his hands, words trailing off into muffled whimpers.

"I've heard if you say it three times, the universe realizes its mistake and makes things fair," a voice said behind him, sarcastic but warm.

Ed whirled around, eyes wide as he stared at the newcomer, "But... I haven't taken anything."

The man behind him scoffed, "If I was a crueler man, Edward, I would say my name is Peter and tell you a riddle over wine. But I'm neither a clone nor a hallucination. As you so eloquently put it, _Gotham wouldn't let me die_. It's me, Ed. I'm real."

Ed took a hesitant step forward but froze when Oswald held up a hand.

"Please," he said, "Don't hit me on the head this time."

He held out his hand palm up and Ed gingerly poked it, gasping when his finger met solid flesh.

"That was quite a speech you just gave."

Ed froze again, head rising slowly to meet Oswald's eyes, "How... how much did you hear?"

"Oh, I arrived around the 'supposed to's."

_"That long? And you let me keep going? You let me pour my heart out, in agony over your death, while you were standing right behind me?"_

Oswald glanced to the side, guilt creeping into his features, "I'm sorry, Edward. I - I had to know."

Ed considered that. He, too, he supposed, would have wanted to know.

But that didn't make the thought any less... _terrifying_.

"If it helps at all," Oswald offered tentatively, "I thought _you_ were dead until I saw you here. Strange had me. He had some of Scarecrow's gas... I watched you die, Edward. It was awful. I couldn't do anything to help you. But he made a mistake. When I'm hurt, when I'm afraid, when I'm backed into a corner, I don't cower in terror. I fight. I managed to get myself out, but I wasn't really sure where to go from there. You were dead, and all I could think was at least you hadn't died in my arms, too. At least I never had that brief moment of hope that I could fix everything..."

Ed wasn't sure why knowing that should help, but oddly enough, it did.

"I came to see how bad it was. I heard the police had something to do with it," he continued, unsure of what to say. Ed wasn't wrong when he said he'd just poured his heart out, and to be perfectly honest, Oswald was feeling a tad overwhelmed.

"It's not that bad," Ed said quietly, "Not even close to what you ought to have, of course, but... it's as good as can be expected, from those morons."

Oswald smiled at him, ever so slightly, and Ed felt like he could see the sun for the first time in about four and a half years. A small ray of hope sparked in him and he pushed down another round of tears because Oswald hadn't said _anything_ , hadn't even addressed it, really, beyond the briefest mention, and surely he would have -

"I didn't know," Oswald said suddenly, quite calm.

"You didn't know what?" Ed forced himself to ask.

"Any of it. I didn't know you loved me, I didn't know you would have left her, I didn't know you really were sorry. But why would you lie to a dead man?"

"Oswald," Ed swallowed, breathing hard in a manic attempt to calm himself the way Oswald seemed to have mastered, "What are you trying to say to me?"

"You haven't checked your messages lately."

"What?" Why would Ed have checked his phone? Who would he have wanted to hear from?

"Check them. Now."

Ed slowly retrieved his phone, confused as to why Oswald would change the subject so randomly. He froze when he saw a voicemail from an unknown number.

"Play it."

Ed pressed play.

Oswald's voice, broken - and not just from the poor recording - sounded across the graveyard.

"Ed. Edward. I'm sorry. I didn't get there in time. I couldn't save you. Not this time," a sigh played over the audio, "I should have gone after Strange myself. Hell, I should never have let him go the first time. I should have slit that bastard's throat where he sat. I would say 'forgive me', but I know you can't. And it's my fault. I don't have anything to say, really. I just wanted to hear your voice, one last time. I know you probably don't want to hear this, certainly not from me, but if there's one thing I want you to know, one thing I regret not telling you sooner... Ed, I never stopped loving you. I hope, in the years we spent apart, you never felt like no one cared. Because believe me, Edward: I cared. I care. I'm sorry I couldn't save you. Goodbye, my love."

Ed looked up, eyes wide, only to find Oswald staring determinedly at the carving on his own so-called tombstone.

"What does this mean?"

Oswald scoffed, "What do you think it means, Edward? I thought you were the smart one."

"I was never smarter than you," Ed shook his head, "But that's not what I meant. What does this mean for _us_? Since neither of us died, and now we've both heard confessions that were meant for our corpses."

"How romantic."

"Romance is subjective."

"I'm sure."

"But seriously, Oswald - what does this mean for us? Where do we go from here? A date?"

"Ed, that seems a little fast, don't you think? We've barely even started talking again," Oswald frowned.

Ed shrugged, "So what? We both just confessed our love to each other, and we've been waiting for four years. Why wait longer?"

"I'm just... how do we trust each other?"

"We learn, like everybody else."

Oswald laughed at that, "Since when did we lower ourselves to the standards of 'everybody else'?"

Ed met his gaze, "I would do anything for you, Oswald. Even degrading myself to the level of a commoner. But you're right. We're better than they are. We can trust each other because we've _already_ hurt each other as deeply as possible. There's nowhere to go but up."

"You want to found a relationship on a cheesy poster saying?"

"Why not?"

"Why not indeed... " Oswald eyed Ed, looking him over twice, before replying, "Alright. Edward Nygma, may I have the honor of taking you to dinner? A romantic dinner, I should specify."

For the first time in ages, Ed's face broke out into his full wide grin.

"Of course, Mr. Penguin. It would be my pleasure."


End file.
